Hallelujah
by RebelFaerie
Summary: Cameron learns that Chase has some interesting talents, and House has a magical way of showing up at the most awkward moments... A quick little romance one-shot in two parts, which makes it a twoshot...?
1. A Secret Chord

Disclaimer: I don't own House. I secretly own Dr. Chase, though... Just kidding. But that would make my life more exciting...

A/N: This pointless story is the result of my Memorial Day five-hour House marathon. It's my first Housefic, so any out-of-character-ness and/or inaccuracies are my own fault, and hopefully by the time I finish my next marathon I'll have a better grasp on the details. It was fun, though, and that's all that counts.

* * *

At five-thirty in the morning, the halls of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital were lit only by the backup generators. In the dim light, the only living occupants that could be seen (aside from the patients, who by and large still slept), were artistically scattered janitors, mopping the sterile linoleum floor with all the enthusiasm minimum wage could muster. Amidst this shadowy yet familiar landscape, Dr. Allison Cameron navigated her way around such an underpaid obstruction as she walked with a moderate amount of purpose toward the chemical testings lab. The janitor, an unattractive man with a walrus mustache and a comparable body structure, made absolutely no effort to hide the scan he gave her body, up and down and then resting somewhere inbetween her navel and her shoulders, beneath the white lab coat. She rolled her eyes elaborately but decided it was too early to launch a feminist crusade, and certainly not solo. Honestly, just because she was born with breasts, you'd think the entire hospital staff thought she was an endangered species in a zoo…

The slightly incongruous showtunes that had been drifting from Perverted Janitor's badly tuned radio had faded into the background as soon as Cameron turned the corner. Nonetheless, she paused for a moment, looking with narrowed eyes down the hall with her head cocked to one side as if listening. She could've sworn she'd heard music coming from somewhere. Unless she was going crazy, which after all this time working for House wasn't quite as unlikely as it sounded, that is.

_"I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord…"_

No, she hadn't been imagining things. There it was again. She'd come in early with the intent of running a few more chemical tests on their most recent patient's urine sample without the somewhat distracting presence of her misanthropic boss looming over her shoulder pelting her with one-liners, but it was no good now; her curiosity was spiked. She instantly altered her course, turning down one hallway and then another, following the sound. That voice, disturbingly and hauntingly beautiful, grew clearer with every step.

_"But you don't really care for music, do you…"_

The sound of running water joined the voice now, and with a small disturbed shock Cameron found herself standing in front of the employees' locker room. She raised one eyebrow skeptically. She hadn't had any of the doctors pegged as either the type to come in early or sing in the shower, despite all of the current evidence to the contrary. Rather than dissuading her, this totally ridiculous setting only made Cameron more determined to figure out what was going on. Eyeing the somewhat restrictive sign above the door that read simply "Men", she shrugged and pushed the door open anyway. She wasn't going to say anything or see anyone, she reasoned, and she'd leave before anyone noticed she was there.

_"Well it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift, the baffled king composing hallelujah."_

The locker room air was heavy with steam rising from the shower on the far left of the row. It fogged the mirrors and the tiny paneled window in the opposite corner, installed for fire safety reasons more than to let in any natural light. Certainly this person did not appreciate the perks of an early-morning cold shower. Cameron sat down on one of the benches across from the shower stalls, trying hard not to imagine what disgusting male locker room antics had taken place on said bench and contemplating a shower of her own after she left. Better safe than sorry. It didn't take much effort on her part not to think about this, though. It didn't even feel like stalking per se, following this unidentified voice that was now singing the second verse, it was just one of the most natural things she could do. Cameron was tired, she was stressed, and she'd spent eighteen of the last twenty-four hours at Princeton Plainsboro. Listening to the voice, in which she now thought she could almost hear the faintest traces of an accent, was the auditory version of a back massage on a beach somewhere in Fiji, if that didn't sound too ridiculous to make any sense. It felt good. Did she always have to question everything that felt good? And why was everything that felt good always, without fail, wrong?

_"She tied you to her kitchen chair, she broke your pride and she cut your hair, and-"_

The sudden silence caused Cameron to instinctively tense. The water shut off suspiciously two seconds later, if such an action can be done with suspicion. The shower curtain edged backwards inch by inch, just far enough for its occupant to poke his head around apprehensively, nothing more. She first saw the damp, unruly blonde hair, her gaze moved down a few inches to sky-blue eyes… She froze.

"Oh, shit…" she whispered.

"Cameron?" Dr. Chase yelled in horror. "What the hell are you doing here?" Yes- that had definitely been the accent. Shit.

"Um, uh, I was, um," she stammered, then changed tactics on the spot. What would House do, she reminded herself dryly. The answer was simple: sarcasm. As much as possible and as quickly as she could think of some. "I was hoping to catch you wandering around naked, Chase, because secretly I'm going commando under this lab coat," she deadpanned.

Chase rolled his eyes. "Lovely. Hand me a towel," he said shortly. Cameron grabbed the nearest one and put it in the Aussie's extended hand, then retreated to her bench, deliberately facing the opposite way.

"You can leave at any time, you know," Chase's voice said pointedly from behind her.

Cameron laughed. "And risk getting felt up by the rapist janitors? I'll take my chances here, thanks."

"Flattering," Chase commented airily. "But really, Cameron, I'm not wearing pants. Wait for me outside if you feel you have to."

"I didn't know Australians were so modest," she sighed, but she stood up and left to the area of the locker room where the lockers were actually located. She didn't know why exactly, but she decided to wait for Chase after all. Maybe it was the alternative of wandering the halls with the creeper janitors, maybe it was because she was a born procrastinator and messing with other people's urine didn't merit the top of her to-do list. Maybe. Or maybe she just wanted to see Chase for a few more minutes. Did she have to try and explain that? If pressed, she'd much rather not, honestly.

The main benefit of being a man, as far as Cameron could tell, was that it took a grand total of five minutes for them to get dressed. Chase wandered out in half of his typical work uniform: severely broken-in khaki pants, black shoes, and a soft white tee-shirt that Cameron would have said highlighted the subtly defined muscles of his chest and arms if she'd been one to notice such things about him. Which, of course, she wasn't. Of course not. Naturally.

Chase quickly busied himself in his locker, searching for a clean work shirt. It quickly became obvious that he wasn't going to say anything, so if she wanted this interview with an Aussie to continue, she was going to have to start making conversation. Cameron cleared her throat awkwardly.

"So what are you doing here at five-thirty in the morning?" she asked.

"They shut off the electricity at my apartment," Chase said curtly. "I didn't feel like taking a shower in the dark. Besides, I never went home last night anyway," he added, doing up the buttons on his white shirt.

Cameron looked at him askance. "You never went home? At all? What've you been doing all this time?"

"I finished the chemical testing on our new patient," he shrugged. "Came up with a short list of diagnoses for House when he comes in. Filed some things. I read Wilson's e-mails."

She laughed out loud. "You did not."

He grinned. "I did. His password's 'password', it's like he was begging me to do it. Apparently he's going with his wife to see A Chorus Line at the theatre on Thursday. Think we should show up?"

She grimaced. "If you want me to shoot myself in the face, okay, sure."

The silence hung there for maybe another minute while Chase searched his locker for a tie not wrinkled beyond repair. Cameron peered over his shoulder; there must've been easily four days' worth of clean clothes stashed in there, not counting the entire contents of most people's bathroom counters (deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, contact lens solution and case, hairbrush, the works), two pairs of shoes, and an electric razor, plus the charger. Catching her looking, Chase quickly yanked out a blue-and-grey tie and slammed the door with a quick flick of his wrist. Maybe it was just the effects of the warm shower, but she thought she saw the color rising in his face. Maybe this wasn't the first time he'd passed the night at the hospital…

"Why did they shut off your power?" Cameron asked hesitantly as Chase tied his tie with the expert precision of someone who spent way too much time at work. "We have the same paycheck, don't we, and I've never had a problem with paying…"

"Apparently I'm not exactly the best at managing money, Cameron," Chase snapped, cutting her off. His blue eyes took in her "well, then, sorry I asked" expression, and he sighed and gave in without being pushed further. "I'm still paying someone to get my visa straightened around, because I guess there's been a few problems with the paperwork," he explained more gently. "And then I'm sending quite a bit back to Melbourne to pay for my dad's hospital bills. Things get out of hand when I don't stay on top of it."

"I'm so sorry," Cameron said honestly. "What's the matter with him?"

Chase paused a moment while he finished his tie, then answered in a slightly strained, forcedly calm voice, not looking directly at her. "He was in a car accident with a semi a month ago. It was on the highway and the truck was going ninety miles an hour. The car was totaled, and my dad's in a medically induced coma while they try and fix his internal injuries."

"Oh my God," Cameron whispered. "Is he going to be… will he be all right?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know that, Cameron?" Chase demanded, spreading his arms wide. "I have no idea what's going on because hardly anyone at the hospital will talk to me. I just send money and hope he doesn't end up like my mum, all right? She died of cancer because we couldn't afford to pay for rent, food, and chemotherapy." He took three or four agitated steps away from Cameron, slamming his hands on one of the lockers with aggravation at his helplessness that he couldn't get out any other way. He stood there for several seconds, Cameron standing quietly a few steps away. She wondered what she could say, but in light of the situation she wasn't sure what good words would do, exactly.

After a pregnant pause, Chase straightened and combed back his damp hair subconsciously, then looked at Cameron with tormented eyes and shrugged. "Sorry," he said with a wry smile. "I'm a little bit stressed these days."

"You should get out of here once in a while," she told him seriously. "No, really. House isn't the best person to spend a lot of time with when things are crazy."

"You're telling me," Chase said with a pointed eyebrow raise, both of them plainly remembering House's formidable right hook through Chase's firsthand experience.

"You could…" she began hesitantly, then finished in a rush, like she was embarrassed at how much she absolutely didn't mind suggesting it. "You could stay at my place if you wanted to. Just until your next check comes through, you know," she added hurriedly.

Chase smiled warmly at her, and Cameron felt a bizarre sensation somewhere in her stomach at the sight of it. "I'd really like that, actually," he said. "I mean, only if it's not weird for you, and only for a few days, I promise."

"Great," Cameron said, and she meant it. "That'd be great."

"Awesome," Chase agreed, nodding.

"All right, then."

"…Okay…"

"Yeah. Cool."

Chase grinned. "I'm, uh, gonna go get a cup of coffee from downstairs," he said pointedly, starting to walk to the door. Cameron bit her tongue with a vengeance and groaned silently. Why could she never stop the awkward rambling part of her brain? This went beyond a lack of a filter. What she should have said was: nothing. What she did say was: everything that popped into her head. Maybe someone could diagnose that…

"Chase?" she called after him, on another irrational impulse.

The Australian paused and turned around, standing in the open doorway of the locker room. "Yes?" he asked bemusedly, though the accent made it seem like he always knew exactly what was going on for some reason.

"…You have a beautiful singing voice," Cameron admitted. The announcement was followed by a blush of epic proportions from both doctors.

"Er… thank you," he said awkwardly, then quickly ducked into the hallway, his face still burning.

"What, the wombat can sing?"

Chase jumped about four feet in the air. It was amazing, really, that he didn't have a heart attack on the spot. Not eighteen inches away from the locker room was Dr. House himself, complete with cane and sarcastic look, one-liner at the ready like a World War II submarine lurking and waiting to fire a torpedo.

"Maybe someday we'll have a hospital performance of West Side Story, Vegemite, and we'll put you in as Maria," House deadpanned, never one to disappoint.

Finally, though, Vegemite had something to say back to this. "Make sure you ask Wilson," Chase retorted with a broad smile. "I hear he knows all the words to A Chorus Line."

House froze to the spot, eyes wide. "You're joking."

"I'm serious," Chase said, biting back a laugh.

"Wallaby, I owe you one," House said, the devious mind working completely transparently behind his eyes. He smacked Chase on the back and limped off at a breakneck pace down the hallway, presumably in search of Wilson. Material like this didn't come along every day, after all. When it did, you had to capitalize on the opportunity.

Chase grinned. Between Cameron and House, he could think of worse places to spend twenty-six hours… One more than the other, of course, and it was becoming more and more clear just how much that person was reciprocating the feelings. Maybe. Best not to overanalyze things until there was some kind of proof behind them. Chase turned the corner and headed down the stairs to the first floor.

Now, about that coffee…

* * *

Review! You know you want to... The review button's lurking right there...


	2. Beauty In The Moonlight

Disclaimer: I own no more than I did yesterday...

A/N: Okay, the House people on this site are officially the most awesome ones I've ever come across. Less than eighteen hours after I put this story up (and for all I know it was actually less than that, I tend to sleep a LOT during the summer...) and my inbox was basically drowning in those messages from my best friend in the world, that lovely bot that brings me reviews. Yay!! I love you all, and all of your critiques are helpful and really, really appreciated. Especially those of you who reviewed _twice._ (Can I hear a chorus of angels singing?) Any OOC-ness or random displaced angst in the previous chapter or this one are strictly my own fault, because as I've been told before I have this habit of putting in angst where it doesn't belong just for the fun of it. Is that a sick, ridiculous definition of fun? Perhaps. Am I going to stop rambling and let you read the end of this? Absolutely.

* * *

"Well, here we are," Cameron said with arms spread wide as she unlocked the door to apartment 17B. Her voice carried an undertone of hesitancy, like she was afraid he was silently passing judgment on each unmatching piece of furniture and stray speck of dust. "It's not much," she added with a shrug, "but it's home."

Chase looked around the living room with an honest smile. "It's great," he said, setting the backpack that contained all of his living essentials down on the hardwood floor next to the door. It really was a nice place in his eyes; he wasn't just saying it. It was a small apartment, to be sure; the front room the stood in, a small half-kitchen, a bathroom and one bedroom made up the whole layout, but somehow it gave off a cozy, not cramped, vibe. The furniture was in a calming, IKEA-approved color scheme of navy blue and a rich mahogany wood that complimented the pale blue walls, and every piece of furniture was laid out with careful thought and precision. Adding a splash of artsiness to the room were four stacks of dusty medical journals with a piece of polished glass atop them to serve as a coffee table. Cameron looked at the sepia-toned Toulouse-Latrec Moulin Rouge poster that hung above the small kitchen table and appeared to be slightly embarrassed.

"It's my mom," she explained. "She's, uh, into feng shui and all of that. I just let her have at it."

"She did a good job of it," Chase said almost wistfully, closing the door gently behind him. He may not have intended for it to happen, but in a few moments he found himself in front of the impromptu coffee table, which held two four-by-six photographs in simple silver frames on its transparent surface. The one on the left portrayed five people laughing and smiling at the camera, two adults and three children: two boys and a girl. Chase's fingers lightly brushed the dust from the faces of the parents, a half-smile crossing his face.

"Your family?" he asked.

"Yeah," Cameron said, looking at the snapshot from over his shoulder. "That was a long time ago. We went to Myrtle Beach for a vacation. I was nine. I always liked that picture," she smiled. "My skin didn't start breaking out for another three years."

"I like it too," Chase said distractedly, abruptly putting his hand back in his pocket as though he'd been caught touching something sacred. Sensing the movement and the agitation that ran deep behind it, Cameron started to walk to the kitchen.

"I'm gonna get a drink," she told Chase. "You want one?"

"Sure. It's an occupational hazard of working for House, huh? You drink all the time…" Chase mused with a grin.

"Exactly. JW Black or Merlot? My bar's a little understocked ever since I left college…"

"JW, thanks."

Cameron had had Chase pegged as a scotch drinker for weeks now. She couldn't bring herself to see the draw of it, though. Honestly, it tasted exactly like motor oil. Well, exactly how you would imagine motor oil to taste, that was. She brought the drinks back, and the two of them sat on Cameron's couch for a moment in silence. Chase took a long pull of scotch with closed eyes, exhaling a deep breath and then gazing thoughtfully into the amber liquid like he was expecting it to speak to him. It stayed silent, however, and Cameron turned toward him. She decided she had to bite the bullet sooner or later, so after a second she addressed the invisible monster lurking on the couch between the two of them.

"I'm so sorry about your mother, Chase," she said softly. "I never knew…"

Chase gave a short, humorless laugh directed at the glass more than her. "It doesn't matter," he said in a voice wiped blank of emotion. "I was only six when she died. I hardly even knew her, and she never knew me either, really."

"Still, I can't imagine losing…" Cameron began, then trailed off when she realized how feeble it sounded. She'd worked with Chase for nine months now, she though, and she still knew hardly anything about him. Where he lived, what he did when he wasn't working, if he was ever not working, even where he grew up… Australia was hardly a specific hometown. For God's sake, it seemed like all she knew about her coworker was what continent he was born in. Hardly enough to form an accurate character sketch. "So you grew up living with your dad?" she asked timidly.

Sensing her hesitancy, Chase gave her a warm smile. She was trying. He saw it. And for the moment at least, he loved her for being the only one to try. Nine long months of being all but alone was more than enough. "For a little while, yeah. But then I ended up in the system, you know? Foster care. They decided he wasn't fit to be a parent. My father had a little too much of a love for prescription drugs. Painkillers, mostly," he explained. "Took away some of the pain of losing his wife, I guess. I was too young to understand it then."

"Maybe you and House should have a heart-to-heart," Cameron commented with a half-hearted attempt at a joke.

"Hey, you lean towards what you know, right?" Chase shrugged. "I know how to deal with addicts, so somehow I'm always surrounded by them, it seems like. In a way, I might be worse than House."

"You _do_ deal Ritalin to high schoolers taking the SAT, don't you? I knew it," Cameron said in mock-accusation, pointing a finger at his chest.

Chase laughed. "Absolutely. Your friendly Australian drug dealer. Nothing that dramatic, I just meant work. I busted my ass to get into med school on a scholarship, pulled all-nighters all the time to graduate, and now I camp out at the hospital to run diagnostic tests at three in the morning. It's a problem, but it's what I decided I wanted, you know? To help people. To save them from disease and from themselves. This time around."

Cameron put one hand on his, feeling the warmth of his fingers. She didn't know if it was the right way to respond to that, most likely it wasn't, but she was trying. Blind stabs in the dark were better than sitting on your hands all the time. "I know how you feel," she said gently.

He smiled and she felt his hand tense and her own stomach flip. "I know you do." His eyes drifted to another framed picture on the end table, this one of Cameron almost as he knew her and another man, in a wheelchair. The two of the were on what looked like the boardwalk only about a fifteen-minute drive from where they were now, she in a bathing suit top and shorts, he in khaki deck shorts and a blue polo. Both of them were smiling, but Chase thought he could see a hidden sadness in her eyes. Identical wedding rings glinted on both their hands. "It must've been impossible to find him, only to lose him so soon."

"It was the right thing to do," Cameron said in a voice coming from a huge distance away.

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," Chase murmured. "Sometimes the right thing is the thing that hurts the most."

Somehow the two of them had ended up even closer, their hands still touching, only inches apart now. Emboldened either by the Merlot or by a sense that this was something she both wanted and needed to do, Cameron brushed Chase's hair off his forehead and smiled softly. "It doesn't have to be," she whispered, and she leaned forward to kiss Chase's lips.

Intoxication, and not from JW Black. The taste, the feel, the sense of her lips on his momentarily stopped Chase's heart. He couldn't breathe but that no longer seemed to be necessary as he kissed her back with a sigh like the weight of the entire world was being lifted from his shoulders. His hands found her hair, her neck, the side of her face, places he had only ever dreamed of exploring with no hopes that his dreams would ever come true. He tasted the stars, he felt immortality. When at last they broke apart to breathe, he looked at her and breathed only one word, almost like a prayer.

"Hallelujah."

* * *

_RIIIIIIIIING!! _

Dr. Robert Chase groaned quietly and rolled over to look at the Allison-Cameron-shaped object that had burrowed beneath the bedsheets. He nudged her gently in the shoulder, and an arm disentangled itself from the blankets and hit out wildly and inaccurately as punishment for his waking her.

"Are you going to get that?" he asked her, his voice slightly hoarse in the morning. He cleared his throat twice in an attempt to fix it.

"It's on your side," she grumbled, gesturing blindly at the phone.

_RIIIIIIIIING!!_

"It's your house," he pointed out.

"Just answer it," she ordered, burying her face deeper underneath the pillow. She did sound horrible, Chase consented as he felt around for the phone. Cameron was clearly not a morning person. And really, what were the odds of it being someone he knew?

"Hello?" he said vaguely into the receiver.

There was a very pronounced, almost scandalized silence for a moment (if silences can be scandalized over the phone) before a very familiar voice managed one word in response.

"…Wombat?"

Oh, Jesus. Chase winced and hit Cameron in the shoulder, pulling the blanket up over his exposed chest reflexively, like someone had actually just walked in the door rather than calling on the phone. "Er, Dr. House?" Cameron sat bolt upright in bed with a horrified start.

"Oh. My. God!" House said in shock. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

"Morning, House, what can I do for you?" Chase said pointedly.

"You did!" House crowed; this plus Wilson's love for the musical theatre was like Christmas come early for him. "My little ducklings are mating! I demand to be named godfather."

"House, you're an atheist," Chase reminded him tiredly.

"So?" Apparently this was unimportant; Chase was sure House just wanted to pop up at random and inappropriate moments to tell people to say hello to his little friend and leave disembodied horse heads as parting gifts. "Tell your thunder from down under that I want you two lovebirds to be at work in forty-five minutes. The test results came back, and we need to start treating for lupus immediately." Click.

Chase hung up the phone and sighed. "Lovely," he muttered to Cameron, who had begun to recite an impressive list of swear words under her breath, most of them "fuck" in varying parts of speech. "It'll be all over the papers in fifteen minutes.

_RIIIIIIIIING!!_

Chase swore loudly and picked up the phone again. "Hello?" he said testily.

"Put on some pants first, wombat," House said. "I don't want to give Wilson any ideas."

Click.

* * *

Well, there we are. Pointless and slightly ridiculous? Absolutely. But I had a lot of fun writing that last part...

You people are awesome. I don't even need to ask anymore, do I? You know what to do.

-RebelFaerie-


End file.
